


in time i know you'll see

by statusquo_ergo



Series: it's not pain, it's just uncertainty [5]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Feelings Realization, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-05 02:31:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10295522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statusquo_ergo/pseuds/statusquo_ergo
Summary: When is Mike going to get that damn song out of his head?





	1. Shape of You

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Here's the thing, I've got a silly prompt, but I kinda feel like you prefer more serious ones? But I'm still going to deliver it so that you can do something about it (or not) with your talent. So I pictured Mike and Harvey working together in season 7, and Mike is stuck with Ed Sheeran song "Shape Of You" for ages. And Harvey can take it anymore. It becomes a thing for Mike, to drive Harvey nuts with the song. Until somehow they got in very embarrasing situation because of that. Feels happen.

How do you spell “extortion,” anyway? E-x-t-o-r-t? E-x-t-o-r-s? It’s basic knowledge, grade-school stuff, and Harvey definitely knew when he started reading this fucking document, but seven eight nine hours staring at the same sentences over and over and over have that sort of warping effect, especially at—Harvey glances at the clock—one AM, holy shit, when did that happen?

Once more. He’ll read it through once more, top to bottom, and head out for the night.

Mike taps his pen rhythmically against his thigh; one _two,_ three one _two,_ three one _two,_ three, and that’s gotta be a song stuck in his head but Harvey doesn’t know which one.

“This guy’s jerking us around,” Mike mutters, and Harvey grits his teeth.

“No kidding,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “but we’d better figure out how before we ask him or we’ll never get the truth.”

Yeah. Yeah, that.

Mike will get it, it’s fine.

He’s about halfway through the file when Mike starts tapping the pen again, and he doesn’t seem to notice when he starts humming, too; Harvey recognizes the song now, even if he can’t place the name.

This is going nowhere fast.

“Go home,” he says, closing the file and shoving it into a box underneath his desk. “Hopefully one of us has an epiphany on the way in tomorrow morning.”

Mike looks up at him blearily, arching his back and stretching his arms out in front of him.

“You got it, boss,” he teases, gathering his papers and just barely keeping from knocking into Harvey’s coffee table as he stumbles toward the door. He starts humming again as soon as he clears the obstacle course, and Harvey presses his eyes into his palms.

“And stop your goddamn humming.”

Mike tosses a two-fingered salute on his way out.

—

Sauntering in the front door at nine forty-five, Harvey takes a second to appreciate such freedoms afforded to name partners before he heads for Mike’s office. Poor kid’s probably been in for an hour already, hour and a half if he had trouble sleeping last night.

Knocking on the door, Harvey doesn’t wait for an answer before he opens it—but he really should have, because Mike isn’t just humming to himself anymore; he’s graduated to quiet singing, and Harvey can’t make out the words but he sees his lips moving and catches the musical tone.

“What’ve you got for me?” he asks loudly, finally catching Mike’s attention as he looks up with a jerk of his neck and slightly widened eyes.

“Ideas,” he replies promptly, “and…more ideas.”

Harvey sits across from him and raises his hands queryingly, and Mike sighs through his teeth.

“There’s something rotten in this blackmail angle,” he complains, “but I _cannot_ figure out what it is.”

“Maybe if you tried singing about it,” Harvey taunts before he thinks better of it, and Mike smirks.

“Not without my backup dancers.”

Grinning, Harvey stands and knocks his knuckles against Mike’s desk.

“Let me know when you have your next brilliant flash of insight,” he says. “In the meantime, I’ll put Vanessa on it.”

Mike drops his head into his hands. “I’ve gotta get me one of those.”

“Alright, Commissioner.”

—

By three that afternoon, Mike has cobbled together enough of a theory to start making probing phone calls, and from what little Vanessa has found so far, their conclusions seem to be lining up; when Harvey returns to his office after a late lunch, Mike has left a stack of papers clipped together on top of his laptop with a blue highlighter placed carefully on the desk beside.

The first page is a concise summary with page references (good boy), informing him that the best information will be on the fifth page, and sure enough, when Harvey flips to it, there’s a Post-It stuck to the top margin.

“Who pays blackmail through a hospital fund?” Mike’s rushed scrawl reads, which is certainly a point worth considering. Then, underneath, a little neater: “The club isn’t the best place to find a lover, so the bar is where I go; me and my friends at the table doing shots, drinking fast and then we talk slow.”

The tune begins ringing in his head immediately and Harvey rips the lower half off the Post-It, crumpling it in his fist and tossing it in the garbage.

That little fucker.

Of all things, why did it have to be a love song?

—

“Put Van the Man on the jukebox,” Mike declares nonsensically, slapping a printout that looks like an email chain down on Harvey’s desk.

“Most people knock,” Harvey drawls, hoping Mike can’t tell that that damn song is suddenly stuck in his head for the third time today. “What’s this?”

“A conversation beginning exactly eleven months ago next week between our client Mister Jim Stone and the man he claims to be blackmailing him,” Mike stabs the paper, his eyes lighting up, “initiated by—”

“Stone,” Harvey interrupts, taking the paper and skimming the text. “Where’d you get this?”

“My new girl Penelope,” Mike says with a grin. “Anyway I’d say this is pretty damning evidence that the blackmail claim is bullshit.”

“And it only took a week to drag this up,” Harvey says. Leaning back in his chair, he purses his lips and raises his eyebrows. “So who’s Penelope? Someone special I should be getting to know?”

“Oh, don’t be jealous, Harvey,” Mike sing-songs, “you know your love was handmade for somebody like me.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Harvey chuckles, and Mike walks backwards out of the office with a little swing in his hips.

Harvey pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. This is starting to get out of hand.

—

Two days later, Mike and Harvey lurk in the hall as they let Jim Stone and some assistant of his wait in Conference Room C, uncertain as to exactly why they’ve been called in and hopefully getting nervous. Flipping through an unrelated file, Mike tries to look busy in case Stone is watching them.

“You wanna be the good cop or the bad cop?” Mike asks, and Harvey scoffs.

“You really asking me that?”

Mike closes the file and bites down on a smirk. “We push and pull like a magnet do,” he croons; Harvey smacks his shoulder and Mike laughs.

“Come on, follow my lead.”

God help him, Harvey does, walking half a pace behind Mike as they confront Mister Stone.

“Harvey,” Jim says, standing with a cocksure smile. “I assume I’m here because you have good news?”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Harvey returns skeptically, brandishing a printout of the email chain. “How about you start by being up front with us about this?”

Harvey watches Jim rush to invent a plausible excuse as he puffs up his chest and darts a gaze to his assistant; he hasn’t had to lie like this in awhile, it seems.

Mike begins to hum.

Oh, no you don’t.

“He first contacted me by phone,” Jim says eventually, obviously under the impression that he’s coming across as some kind of smooth customer, and Mike stops humming as he rolls his eyes and the assistant scribbles something on a notepad.

“‘Mister Tennon,’” Mike recites, “‘my name is Jim Stone, and I believe I have a proposal which would be of mutual benefit to us if you would be willing to further discuss the matter at a later date.’ Sounds like an introduction to me, wouldn’t you say, Harvey?”

“I would,” Harvey agrees, “and frankly Jim, I don’t give a damn what you’re trying to cover up here unless it’s going to come around and bite me in the ass while I’m trying to mount your defense, so how about you stop bullshitting us and explain yourself?”

Stone fumbles for another few seconds before falling back into his seat, averting his gaze and doing his best to keep from gaping like a fish; Harvey crosses his arms over his chest and Mike puts his hands on his hips.

Then…wait a second.

For crying out loud, does he even know he’s doing it anymore, or has it become just some awful habit?

Stone starts digging around in his briefcase, as though something in there will explain his poor planning and general stupidity, when Harvey hears it clearly:

“I’m in love with your body,” Mike mumbles rhythmically.

Stone pulls out a stack of papers and keeps digging as his assistant wrings his hands uselessly.

“Every day discovering something brand new…”

Harvey grits his teeth.

“I’m in love with the shape—”

“Alright, that’s it.”

Harvey grabs Mike’s elbow and hauls him stumbling out the door into the hall; Stone looks up in surprise and his assistant’s head snaps around as the door swings shut behind them and Harvey doesn’t often wish the glass walls of this office were made of something a little more opaque, but he sure is wishing that now.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hisses the moment he and Mike are out of view of their client; a couple of stray associates wisely scuttle away, keeping their heads down, and Mike looks genuinely baffled, raising his hands and shaking his head.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mike says. Harvey isn’t sure whether to believe him or not.

“That song,” he snaps, “you’ve been—humming it and singing it and _drumming_ it for a week and a half!”

“It’s stuck in my head,” Mike mutters.

“That song,” Harvey says dryly. “That song in particular has been stuck in your head for _over a week._ ”

Mike shrugs. “I guess? Why, you got something against Ed Sheeran?”

“Do I— No, Mike, I have something against you singing a _love song_ at me for ten days straight!”

Mike looks down shamefacedly, then back up with his eyes narrowed. “Wait, why?”

Harvey doesn’t really have an answer to that; or, he does, handily, but he’s not about to tell Mike what it is.

“Because it’s very unprofessional,” he declares, which it actually kind of is. “And I know he sure doesn’t look it, but Stone is worth a lot of money that I don’t want to see flushed down the drain when he fires us because you can’t get your earworm under control!”

It’s true; Stone’s suit isn’t even made to measure, much less bespoke. The man clearly has no idea how to handle his fortune. Probably inherited.

But Mike has that look in his eye like he’s uncovered a fact buried about a hundred meters underground that someone went to a great deal of trouble to hide from him (because Harvey did), and he’s not about to let it go (just as Harvey taught him).

“But you would’ve been fine with ‘Castle on the Hill.’”

“That’s not the _point._ ”

“That’s exactly the point,” Mike argues. “You said you don’t like me singing a love song, at you, for ten days, and I’m asking you why, because I have an idea and I’d like to know if we’re on the same page with it.”

Shit.

Wait.

Harvey frowns. “What do you mean, ‘same page’?”

Shoving his hand into his hair, Mike looks away and sighs sharply.

“Before I say what I’m going to say, I’d like to remind you that it would be a huge pain in the ass at this point for you to hire someone to replace me and the number of people with eidetic memories is vanishingly small so you’re basically guaranteed to never find anyone else who’s good enough to pass the Bar without going to law school and I’ve got enough dirt on you and Specter Litt to bury this firm if I really want to _but._ ” He pauses abruptly and Harvey takes a moment to be impressed that he got that all out in one breath before Mike meets his eyes challengingly.

“I’m getting kind of sick of pretending I’m not _super_ into you.”

Of all the ways this situation could have played out, this is definitely one of the weirdest. Best? Weirdest. But also sort of awesome.

But very weird.

Harvey clears his throat imperiously and tries to find some stable footing.

“Are you threatening me?”

Mike puts his hands in his pockets and looks up thoughtfully, clenching his teeth; he was confident enough to say what he did, but he’s not completely confident that he’s right about it. Well, he’s a guy who goes after what he wants, that’s for sure; that consequences-be-damned attitude has gotten him in trouble in the past, but he’s still willing to put himself out there when it counts.

“I think,” Mike speculates, “that it was more like…blackmail?”

Harvey smirks. “Are you sure about that, because I didn’t hear any quid pro quo demands.”

He sees the moment Mike realizes that he hasn’t been chastised, or demoted, and his cocky grin mimics Harvey’s almost exactly.

“Either you invite me out to dinner in a clearly defined date-like capacity, or you wait for me to ask you first.”

“You son of a bitch.”

Nodding his agreement, Mike magnanimously offers his hand. “So, Mister Specter, we agree?”

Harvey takes his hand and shakes it firmly. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

They hold each other’s grips for a period definitely longer than necessary, and Mike grins.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Harvey watches fondly as Mike strides back into the conference room and opens a folder full of spreadsheets to shove in their client’s face.

The kid sure knows how to handle a tough situation; this is going to be fun.

There’s just one more question Harvey has to ask himself before tonight:

The button-front or the Henley?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve gotta get me one of those.” (Commissioner James Gordon (Gary Oldman), _Batman Begins_ , 2005)
> 
> “Castle on the Hill” is the other lead single from Sheeran’s studio album ÷ (2017).
> 
> Just to clarify, Penelope isn’t Mike’s girlfriend, she’s his C.I. (his Vanessa).
> 
> Title from "There's a World" from _Next to Normal_ (2008).


	2. Castle on the Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spankmadlad](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Spankmadlad/pseuds/Spankmadlad) asked for more…and…so. So this happened.
> 
> It's fluff, it's 100% fluffy fluff.

Mike isn’t nervous. Not remotely.

If he’s on time, Harvey will be here in fifteen minutes—which is a stupid conditional, because _obviously_ Harvey will be on time, he’s _Harvey—_ and they’ll go…somewhere, to do…something. Eat a seven-course meal at the fanciest restaurant Mike has ever seen, much less eaten at. Dance at a black-tie gala that Harvey conjures invites to out of thin air. Blast across the alkali flats in a jet-powered monkey-navigated supersonic car with chromium inlays and flame decals.

Mini-golf, whatever.

Mike isn’t nervous.

Lounging in the living room, Mike throws his arms over the back of the couch and cranes his neck to look out the window. It’s dark, and there’s not much to see from this angle; another building, and some sky.

He gets up and goes to his bedroom to flip through the Stone file as though it’ll give him any new insight to impress Harvey with.

This is a date, dumbass, not a business conference.

Right.

He shoves the file into his bag and into the closet.

He’s just made it to the kitchen when he hears a rhythmic knock on the door.

Thank god.

The first thing Mike notices is that the top three buttons of Harvey’s black Henley are undone.

The second is that he’s smirking like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like this is the most natural thing he’s ever done, and how is it possible that he’s not nervous? Not that Mike is, because he’s not, but this is _Mike’s_ fantasy, isn’t it? Shouldn’t Harvey be confused or edgy or something? Well, he’s probably been on a million first dates, this is no big deal.

Harvey ducks his head a little to catch Mike’s eye.

“You alright in there?” he teases, and Mike startles, backing up a step.

“Yeah, sorry, yeah, you— Come in.”

Harvey strolls in like he owns the place and Mike takes a shallow breath as Harvey takes a speculative look around before turning back toward him.

“New shirt?” he asks, and Mike looks abashedly down at his grey gingham button-front.

“Ish?” he offers. “Something wrong?”

Harvey shakes his head, pacing closer.

“Not a thing.”

They smile at each other for a few seconds before Harvey claps his hand down on Mike’s shoulder and urges him toward the door.

“You ready?”

Mike almost responds “I was born ready,” but at the very last second, he has just a little more class than that. Grabbing his wallet and keys in one hand and a jacket in the other, he follows Harvey into the hall and tries to conceal his grin while Harvey calls the elevator.

“Where are we going?” he asks with forced apathy, but Harvey shakes his head.

“Nice try, kid.”

It can’t be anywhere particularly opulent if Harvey’s content with casualwear, but that doesn’t give much of an actual hint. Mike tries not to work himself up over it but then they get outside and that is the _sexiest_ car Mike’s ever seen.

“Holy shit,” he blurts out as Harvey holds the passenger side door open for him.

“We’re not going far,” he warns, “but I’ve got it all weekend, so don’t be too disappointed.”

All weekend, not that that means anything.

Mike bites down on a giddy smile and slides into the soft leather interior, running his fingers over the elegant script _Lamborghini_ inlaid over the vent.

“I’m thinking I might have to take you up on that,” he says when Harvey climbs in beside him and flips the cover on the Start button.

“Thought so.”

Privately cursing the city’s twenty-five MPH speed limit, Mike relaxes into his seat and watches Harvey out of the corner of his eye. This is Harvey’s thing, his element, this sort of opulence; Mike has gotten used to it in pieces, and he definitely appreciates the freedom it affords, but he’s not sure he’ll ever completely fit in with such ease.

He does a literal doubletake when Harvey parks at the corner of Waverly and Sixth and escorts him across the street to Waverly Restaurant.

“No way,” he mutters at the red vinyl seating, the chrome bars separating the booths, the glossy laminated tabletops and cheap paper napkins. Harvey puts his hand on his lower back, ushering him in to a booth in the back, away from the door.

“You been here before?” Harvey asks as they settle in.

“No,” Mike says, “I just never thought of you as going in for anything less than five stars and a three-figure total on the bill.”

Harvey shrugs. “I’m full of surprises.”

That’s certainly true.

Mike orders French toast and bacon because he can, and Harvey surprises him again by opting for a cheeseburger; he wonders if Harvey is trying to prove a point somehow and hopes that isn’t going to become a _thing_ between them.

“So where did you grow up?” Mike asks once the waiter has gone; Harvey raises his eyebrows.

“I’m from a small mountain village in Tibet,” he answers smoothly. “Tenzing Norgay used to carry me to school.”

Mike ducks his head to muffle his laughter, but when he looks up there’s something wary in Harvey’s expression that he wasn’t expecting.

Tensing his jaw, Harvey sighs out through his nose and narrows his eyes.

“Shouldn’t this be…weirder?” he asks, and Mike bites the inside of his cheek.

“Harvey… I don’t want this to be some sort of power imbalance thing,” he says, skirting a concern he was hoping they wouldn’t have to deal with yet, or ever. “You’ve been my boss as long as I’ve known you, but I think we’re big enough people to separate work from our personal lives.”

Shaking his head and waving his hand, Harvey leans back in his chair.

“No, no,” he assures him, “hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

Mike waits for him to elaborate; it takes a minute.

“We’ve got one hell of a history,” he explains finally, “our fair share of rough patches, and I’d like to think we’ve come out of it pretty strongly.”

“‘I don’t want to ruin what we have now by asking for something more,’” Mike quips in such a tone that the sardonic quotes are obvious even without an accompanying gesture, and Harvey has the good sense to be embarrassed by the cliché.

“There’s a lot that I won’t be able to give you,” Harvey warns anyway. “A lot you might expect out of a relationship that you’re not going to get from me, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped.”

Resting his elbows on the table and leaning over them, Mike fixes Harvey with a scrutinizing gaze, his lips pursing as Harvey tries to keep his expression neutral.

The waiter returns with their meals and they offer distracted thanks as he walks away.

“Harvey,” Mike says then, pulling the syrup closer as Harvey claims the ketchup, “I’m not a child. I don’t need you to keep me entertained, alright? You’re my best friend, you have been for a long time; I like working with you, but I like spending time with you outside of work too, and I think you like spending time with me. I’m not gonna be perfect, and you don’t have to be, either, because whatever happens between us, we’ll get through it like we always do.”

Harvey has a healthy appreciation for the honeymoon phase of a new relationship and it’ll be a shame to skip it, but it’s good to know that Mike isn’t looking at this thing through rose-colored glasses.

“I just meant I don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out because you’re stuck with me,” Harvey says, and Mike’s smile turns smug.

“You’re hearing yourself, right?” he asks. “Has anyone, ever, in the history of time, _ever_ been lucky enough to be dating you _and_ stupid enough to feel like they’re settling?”

Harvey laughs, and Mike joins in after a second.

“I like you,” Harvey says, grinning, and Mike takes an awkward little bow over the tabletop.

Conversation flows easily after that, segueing in and out of banter with their usual spontaneity and playful teasing, and yeah, this is gonna work out just fine.

Harvey picks up the bill as a formality more than anything, and they leave the restaurant unhurriedly.

Mike rocks back on his heels.

“So,” he ventures. “Uh, there are a couple clubs around here, I think.”

“There are,” Harvey agrees. “Or there’s this great dessert place about a mile east.”

Craning his neck around, Mike tries to get enough of a sense of his bearings to guess what Harvey’s talking about; it clicks abruptly and he has to tip his hat to Harvey’s forethought, because that was pretty smooth.

“Point seven miles, I think,” he speculates, and Harvey grins.

“More or less.”

The drive to Harvey’s building takes eight minutes; Mike doesn’t take his eyes off Harvey the entire time.

In the garage, Harvey turns the motor off, slides out of the car, and pauses with his hand on the roof. Mike rounds the hood and stops at Harvey’s side, resting his hand on the back of Harvey’s neck when he doesn’t immediately move toward the elevator to the lobby.

“You okay?”

Looking up thoughtfully, Harvey locks his eyes with Mike’s.

“You’re not one of those people whose first kiss has to be at sunset on the shore, are you?” he asks, and Mike shakes his head slowly.

“No…”

“Good.”

Clenching his hand in Mike’s hair, Harvey kisses him deeply, nipping Mike’s lower lip and sweeping his tongue over it when he bites a little too hard; Mike’s grip and his knees weaken a little before he can control himself, his fingers sliding under Harvey’s collar as Harvey presses him up against the car.

“Jesus,” Mike mutters, his eyes on Harvey’s lips when he finally draws back. “How long have you been waiting to do that?”

“Longer than I thought, apparently,” Harvey murmurs. Mike leans in for another kiss, wrapping his arms around Harvey’s shoulders and pressing their foreheads together when they part again.

“Had my first kiss on a Friday night,” he purrs, and Harvey tugs his hair.

“Smartass.”

Mike kisses him.

“You got a bed up in that fancy penthouse suite of yours?”

Harvey strokes his hand down Mike’s neck. “I thought you’d put up a little more of a fight than that.”

Winking brashly, Mike pushes Harvey back toward the elevator.

“Let’s see how it goes.”

Harvey smirks.

This’ll work out just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Blasting across the alkali flats in a jet-powered monkey-navigated… And it goes on like this.” (“A Milhouse Divided,” _The Simpsons_ , 1996)
> 
> [This](https://www.gothamdreamcars.com/assets/fleet/lamborghini/lamborghini-huracan-main@2x-f422d8b2ba75311e820c1b0327260d97.jpg) is the car Harvey picks Mike up in, a Lamborghini Huracán Spyder; the Gotham Car Club in New York City offers it for $2,150 per day, $4,450 for a three-day weekend Friday-Sunday.
> 
> [Waverly Restaurant](http://www.waverlyrestaurant.net/) is generally regarded as a solid place to get classic diner food.
> 
> “I’m from a small mountain village in Tibet. [Tenzing Norgay](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tenzing_Norgay) used to carry me to school.” (“And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon Part 2,” _Frasier_ , 2000)
> 
> “Had my first kiss on a Friday night.” (“Castle on the Hill,” ÷, Ed Sheeran, 2017)


End file.
